The Flowers of the Earth and the Stars in the Heavens
by LawrVert
Summary: "He sought to counsel and calm the despairing man, by pointing out to him the resigned man, and to transform the grief which gazes upon a grave by showing him the grief which fixes its gaze upon a star." -A story of how Bishop Myriel came to receive the mysterious gift from the bandit, Cravatte.


The Flowers of the Earth and the Stars in the Heavens

The mule brayed as the Bishop of Digne and the small boy of seven acting as his guide reached the mountain pass leading to the shepherd's village.

"Look at all the colors," the boy said as his hand shot out, nearly causing him to topple from the mule. It was early summer and the wildflowers bloomed along the sides of the path and burst from the crevices in the rocks, filling the mountain side with vibrant hues.

"Life and beauty in the darkest places," the bishop reflected. The shepherds waved at him from their fields as he passed by and removed their caps.

"We are almost there, Monseigneur-it's just over this ridge."

"Yes, Bayard. I shall rejoice to see these good people again." He smiled as he scratched the mule's neck, "Easy, fellow. You'll soon have open pasture and rest."

A sound of distant music, both somber and joyous, filled the air, and the bishop cocked his head to listen. "How I have missed that sound."

As they rounded the road leading into the village, the bishop's guide heard the shouting of children. As they approached, he was able to distinguish their words - they were calling for Monseigneur greeted them with smiles, stopping to take their small hands in his own and offer blessings.

At the village square, the mayor, the cure, and a group of villagers awaited him. The mayor rushed forward to help the bishop off of the mule.

"Monseigneur Bienvenu! Thank God you arrived safely."

The parish cure stepped forward and inclined his head respectfully. "Did you encounter any bandits on the road?"

"Not a single one."

The cure sighed and clasped the bishop's hand.

"Yes, it was quite a pity. I had hoped to meet their band."

The cure and the mayor exchanged worried glances as the bishop turned to help Bayard off the mule. Several of the townspeople waited to give the bishop brightly colored bouquets of wildflowers. The bishop accepted each of them with genuine gratitude and kind blessings.

The bishop preached an evening mass. Having noted that the parish had fallen into disrepair, he resolved to ask for donations to help repair the leaking roof and a broken window.

Throughout the next few days, the bishop stayed in the village with young Bayard at his side. He broke with tradition and preached sermons in the open fields eloquently, as if the pasture full of shepherds, sheep, and goats was the most elegant cathedral full of dignitaries.

Whenever he visited homes in the town, he would have crowds of children in tow; they were naturally drawn to the bishop, and he made sure to make them feel welcome at mass by inviting them to gather around the altar and including little games in some of his sermons.

* * *

><p>In the early morning hours of the tenth day, the Bishop was preparing a sermon when he was interrupted by a knock on the door of the rectory. Bishop Myriel rubbed his aching back as he shuffled to the door.<p>

He opened the door to see Josephine, one of the young women of the village, standing there with the look of a frightened animal in her large eyes.

"Monseigneur Bienvenu, please come quickly," she said in a trembling voice, shifting her weight from foot to foot and wringing her hands.

"Of course, my child. What troubles you so?"

"It is better if I show you, Monseigneur."

"Very well. Lead the way, but have patience, for my bones are old and I walk slowly."

The woman led him to a small shed with a thatched roof. Once inside, she gestured to a bed of straw and woolen blankets where an injured man lay. His clothes were ragged and stained with blood. When the bishop drew closer, he saw that the man's face was still young under his thick, dark beard; his eyes were closed and his forehead was beaded with sweat. His shirt had been pulled up to reveal a blood-soaked bandage around his waist.

Josephine looked from the man on the bed to the bishop and anxiously clasped at the folds of her skirt. "This is my brother, Mathieu. He left the village over ten years ago. The last time I saw him, I was fourteen."

The bishop knelt by the bed and placed a hand on the gaunt man's forehead, frowning at his burning skin.

"He has a high fever. What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He arrived on horseback: he must have been riding for hours. Since he arrived, he's been drifting in and out of consciousness. I hardly recognized him."

Myriel moved to lift the bandage and gasped. There was a large wound on the man's side. It had been crudely stitched with uneven sutures of a thick, coarse material; it gaped in several places and still oozed. The red, mottled skin around the injury was hot and swollen, a sharp contrast with the man's otherwise waxen skin.

The movement of the bandage roused the injured man. His eyes snapped open and he struck out with his arms. When he attempted to sit up, he grimaced from the sudden pain the movement caused and collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily. When he attempted to move a second time, the bishop pressed his shoulder gently toward the bed.

"Shhh. You're safe. I need to clean and dress your wound."

"Who are you?"

"I am a humble bishop."

The bishop motioned Josephine closer and whispered. "He needs a doctor."

"No doctors." The man sat up, groaning from the exertion.

The bishop took one of the man's large, callused hands in his own small wrinkled one. "Your wound is very bad. It has festered and without a doctor's care, you will die."

"No doctors," he repeated. He shook his head and moved to pull his hand from the bishop's.

The bishop's fingers brushed the ridges of scar tissue that encircled his wrist, and he looked at the man with deep compassion. "You've suffered deeply, haven't you?"

Mathieu looked away and sighed, unable to answer.

The bishop turned his attention to Josephine and whispered. "I will do what I can to make him comfortable. Would you bring some water and a cloth? I need to try to lower his fever."

Josephine nodded and left, returning several minutes later, with a bucket of water and a cloth. He filled a glass and helped the man to drink. Then he dipped the cloth in the bucket and held it to his patient's heated brow. Mathieu leaned into the comfort of the cool cloth as the bishop dabbed the his face and neck.

"Don't you want to know what I did?"

"Pardon?"

"I'm a convict. You saw the scars on my wrists."

The bishop continued to cleanse the grime and blood from the man's skin and spoke to him in a soft voice. "No man is without sin."

"Aren't you afraid of me? I might be a murderer."

"Are you afraid of me, my son? Though his voice assumed a dark edge, he never lost the glint in his eye, reminiscent of a schoolboy plotting mischief.

The man seemed to choke; spasms wracked his thin frame. The bishop realized he was laughing.

The bishop called Josephine again and had her send for Bayard this time. When the young boy came to his side, he regarded the man on the bed, staring at him while he spoke.

"Yes, Monseigneur?"

The bishop handed the boy a scrap of paper with a list of several items. "I need you to get these plants. Do you know which ones they are?"

Bayard frowned as he read the list. He pointed to the word at the top. "The little ones with the orange centers and the white petals."

The bishop smiled at him. "Very good. Can you find the others quickly?.

"Well, I think there is a willow tree in the pasture over there." He pointed somewhere outside the door and behind him.

"I need you to bring me a piece of the bark from the tree. Just a little one will do."

"Yes, Monseigneur." He nodded and studied the list again and wrinkled his nose as he pointed to the final item. "I don't know this one."

The bishop leaned over replied, "Elderberry. That one is the plant with the black berries. Josephine has some near her house. I'll need some of the leaves and some berries."

He saw the boy's expression light up when he mentioned the word berries, and added: "Make sure you don't eat the berries. They could make you quite sick."

The child looked at the injured man and then announced proudly, "Don't worry. I won't eat the berries like he did." He turned and raced out the door to gather the plants for the bishop.

The bishop looked at Josephine, who smiled weakly as Bayard left the room.

"Josephine, will you prepare some weak tea for your brother? I will watch over him until you return." She nodded and left the shack to walk back to her house.

"It has been far too long since I last visited this village," the Bishop said to the man. "It's such a pleasant place, and the people have such faith and joy."

Mathieu shook his head. "It's a poor village, and most of the shepherds do not own their own flocks."

The bishop seemed undeterred by his cynicism. "I remember music from a wooden flute playing on the wind outside of the village the first time I visited. It was such a beautiful sound and I thought how lucky these people are to hear that sound every day."

"My father made flutes. I grew up with that sound." Mathieu smiled at the memory. "My sister could play quite well. Regretfully, I do not share her talent."

Mathieu's words began to trail off. His eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep. While the bishop waited for Bayard to return with the plants and linen, he pressed a cool cloth to the Matthieu's face, trying to lower his fever.

Several hours passed before Bayard appeared at the door with a satchel slung over his shoulder.

"You are back so quickly! Did you get everything? Let me see."

The bishop opened the bag and inspected it's contents and patted the child's head.

"You've done very well, my child. Would you do one more thing for me?"

"Anything, Monseigneur."

"Please bring pillows and sheets from my bedroom in the rectory."

The boy nodded and then sprinted out the door.

He began to mix the herbs for the poultice. When it was ready, he knelt by Mathieu's side holding the concoction.

"These herbs will decrease the swelling and lower your fever. Are you in much pain?"

The man shut his eyes a moment and drew in a shaky breath before answering. "It is worse than yesterday, but it's nothing I can't bear."

"I need to remove your shirt to apply the dressing and clean the wound. May I?"

Mathieu nodded. He bit back a groan as the bishop helped him to sit up. The bishop gently lifted the shirt and pulled it over the man's head, careful to avoid the wound on his side. His palm grazed the man's back as the shirt was removed, and he paused, frowning at the irregular ridges he felt.

He pressed Mathieu forward and moved behind him so he could check for other wounds. The man's back was a lattice of scars -old scars that were white and corded were a stark contrast to newer pink ridges that disfigured his skin. The bishop's fingertips traced the lash marks lightly; Myriel noticed Mathieu's shoulders tense.

"These must have caused you great pain."

He wondered if he had said too much as Matthieu's hands clenched and unclenched. The young man swallowed and in his eyes, a dark, feral look flashed and faded before he answered. "The first few times, I thought I would die. After a time, my body became accustomed to the pain and I no longer felt anything."

The bishop moved back to the side of the bed and began to clean the skin around the wound. The man remained silent, save an occasional hiss through clenched teeth when the bishop brushed a painful area. He applied the poultice to the wound and wrapped strips of linen around his waist to hold it in place.

Soon, Josephine came in with a steaming pot of tea and cups. "Monseigneur, I am sure you need to return to the parish. I will tend to my brother."

"It's quite alright, Mademoiselle. I know you have things you must attend to."

"Are you sure?" She glanced from the bishop to her brother who nodded tiredly.

"I promise I will watch over him."

Josephine crossed over to her brother and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. "I'll see you in the morning."

When Josephine had left, the bishop placed a cup in Mathieu's hand. When he succeeded in grasping the cup, his hand trembled, and it almost fell from his hand. The bishop moved closer to the man on the makeshift bed and placed his hand around Mathieu's to help guide the cup to his lips. When the cup was empty, he settled Mathieu back on the bed.

"There. Rest now."

The injured man regarded him with a quizzical, almost incredulous expression. "Monseigneur, you are not like other men of the cloth."

"Really?" The old man raised an eyebrow.

"You are so kind. I was raised in Nice, and when I was a child, the priest was always cross with me. He used to box my ears."

The bishop leaned forward and whispered: "I had my ears boxed too. Never a pleasant experience."

"In prison, the bishop would visit only for a few minutes and spoke from an altar high above us as though he was afraid he would dirty his white robes getting to close to filth like us."

Bayard interrupted them when he rushed in dragging a heavy bundle. "Monseigneur-I carried it across town." The child did not seem tired by his exertions, but rather quite proud of himself.

"The cure asked if you are going to be staying the night here. He told me to help you set up a bed."

"I will be staying. Just leave that here. Why don't you go and play in the village for a bit?"

"But Monseigneur Bienvenu, what about your bed?" the child asked.

"The bedding is for Matthieu. I will sleep on the floor. My cassock will make a fine pillow." Bayard nodded and ran off.

Matthieu spoke up suddenly. "You mustn't trouble yourself for a dog like me, Monseigneur. It isn't right."

"If a stable was good enough for the son of God, then my cassock and the floor will serve me quite well. Now, let's get you into a clean shirt."

The bishop searched the bag and pulled out one of his clean nightshirts. He helped the man into the garment then lay him back down and adjusted the blankets. Then, he busied himself with placing pillows and sheets around and under Matthieu to make him more comfortable.

Matthieu fell into a deep slumber that afternoon. While he watched over the man, the bishop swept the floor of the shack, made sure his patient's linens were clean, and settled down to read his Bible. Occasionally, he would glance at the man stretched out on the bed, alert for changes in his breathing or signs of discomfort. The poultice had done little to stop the infection, but mercifully, it seemed to have eased his pain.

The bishop had not eaten or rested since entering the shack; however, he knew the needs of his own body could wait. Matthieu slept for hours into the night. The bishop would occasionally stand in the door of the little shack and gaze up at the firmament in silent contemplation of the mystery and glory of God and his creation. One of these moments of reverie was interrupted when Matthieu screamed in the grasp of a fever dream.

"No-No-God no! Please!" He thrashed about in sweat-soaked sheets, fighting off imagined assailants.

The bishop went to his side and took his wrists in a firm but gentle grip. . He released the man only when dark, glassy eyes opened with a terrified expression.

"Shhh…You're safe. I'm still here," the bishop whispered. He held the man's face in his hands until Mathieu became lucid again. Then he wet a cool cloth in the basin at his bedside, wrung it out, and wiped the man's burning face.

"Is it you, Monseigneur?" Matthieu sat up a bit, stretching out a hand.

"Yes, my son. Rest." He gently placed the man's hand back down on the sheet and continued his ministrations.

The man's eyes grew wide and he grasped at the front of the bishop's robes. "You won't leave me, will you?" His voice was childish as he pleaded in a weak, barely audible voice, "Good Bishop, I am afraid."

The bishop looked into his eyes and adjusted the pillows behind Matthieu so he might sit up. "Tell me what you fear my son."

Matthieu's hands absently toyed with the folds in the linen sheets before he replied. "I have not made confession in many years..and my life has been...less than honest."

"Do you wish to make confession?"

"Yes, Monseigneur. You will not think ill of me?" His voice broke from the shame and he became distant as a wave of memories threatened to drown him in an abyss of internal torment.

"Never. Do not be afraid. All will be forgiven." The bishop placed a hand on the man's brow and said a short blessing as Mathieu began to unburden himself. The bishop listened without comment, again breaking with tradition when he reached out and squeezed Mathieu's hand encouragingly.

Mathieu told the bishop of his rebellious boyhood in the village, his incarceration after he was caught poaching on private land, his escape from prison, and his alliance with Gaspard Bes and then his lieutenant, Cravatte. The bishop occasionally became grave, but he never lost his empathetic expression, and gradually, Mathieu began to relax.

After hearing of the man's exploits with the bandits, the bishop sat back and rubbed his head thoughtfully before sitting up with a sudden twinkle in his eye. "So that is how you knew I could not be Cravatte."

Matthieu, whose shoulders had been tensed during the Bishop's silent meditation, relaxed and returned his smile.

"We never harmed anyone."

"What's that?"

"When Bes broke us out of jail. I knew it was wrong, but Bes had a way about him. He made me believe that what we did was right. He said that the ones we stole from had more than enough and since we were giving most of it to those less fortunate...It is a poor excuse, I know."

"Rest easy, brother. Your sins will be forgiven."

"Do you think God will allow a man like me into heaven, then?"

"I have no doubt you will be welcomed there."

Mathieu sighed and leaned back on the pillows, the last remaining tension draining from his limbs.

The bishop's cool hands brushed the man's forehead. "You're still running a fever. I need to check your wound."

Mathieu drew a deep breath to steady himself. "Do what you must."

The bishop's carefully he pushed aside the blankets and pulled up the nightshirt. He glanced up at Mathieu asking permission as his hand hovered above the dressing. Matthieu clenched his jaw and nodded. By the light of a taper, the bishop unwrapped the linen strips and lifted the poultice. Red streaks were stretching from the wound and the cloying odor of infection filled the air.

Mathieu sat up a bit and tried to see the wound for himself. "Is it bad? No need to ask. I can see by your face that it is."

The bishop placed a hand on his shoulder. "The infection has spread, and I fear it's in your blood. I will clean the wound, but there is nothing more that I can do," the old man said sadly.

"Leave it, Monseigneur. You've done more than anyone else ever has for me." He extended a shaking hand and covered the Bishop's small hand, pale and wrinkled, with his own-scarred and tanned.

The bishop replaced the wrappings on the wound and pulled the nightshirt down.

He went to the door for a moment and stared up at the clear night sky. He turned back to Mathieu. "You know, in Digne, I keep a small garden. Every night I go out to that garden and I look at the night sky, and it reminds me of the splendor of creation."

"I never really thought about the sky. I saw little of it when I was in prison." Mathieu's gaze became dark.

After a long pause, the bishop replied, "It occurred to me that the night is very mild and a man who has spent so much time shut away from the world might wish to sleep in the open air, under the stars."

"I should like to see the sky above me. The walls of this shack grow closer every hour. But I am not sure I have the strength to leave this bed." He squeezed his eyes shut and a tear rolled down his cheek. He turned to face the wall, ashamed.

"I will prepare a bed for you just outside the door. If you can sit up, I will help you to stand."

The bishop helped Mathieu to a sitting position and started moving several of the pillows and blankets outside. Once he had that arranged, he placed his arms under Mathieu's armpits and leant him his strength so he might stand. Mathieu groaned and winced. He started to take a step and stumbled, falling against the bishop's shoulder. The bishop moved his arm around his shoulders and helped him to place most of his weight against his body. He was a full head smaller and suffered from rheumatism, so it was an agonizing process of moving inch by inch to get Mathieu just a few steps outside. Yet the bishop bore the weight willingly as the one he served had borne his own burden.

Once outside, Mathieu fell to his knees and the bishop collapsed beside him, breathing heavily. Once he had regained his breath, Myriel rolled to his knees and helped Mathieu to rest his back on the pillows against the building, then sat a few inches away. They spent a few moments just breathing in the cool night air perfumed with mountain wildflowers, and staring up at the constellations.

"To think I had forgotten the sky." Mathieu's voice was rich with wonder.

"Surely you slept under the sky when you traveled with the bandits...?"

"Only in the beginning. We spent our nights hiding from the gendarmes in the mountains in dark gorges and caves unfit for beasts. Eventually, the gendarmes found us. They captured and executed Bes and some of the others. I fled with Cravatte and the rest."

"How were you injured? You do not have to tell me unless you wish to." The bishop patted his hand gently.

Matthieu's hands clenched in the folds of the thin sheet that covered him. "There was a wealthy judge in a small province. He was known for sending innocent men to jail or the gallows so he could claim their wives. Cravatte decided to rob him to teach him a lesson. Somehow, the judge knew we were coming and he had gendarmes lying in wait. They shot two of us and I was wounded by a bayonet."

"Your wound appears old. How long did you suffer before you came to this village?" The bishop's hand moved up his arm to his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"Cravatte tried to treat my wound, and when he saw I was not recovering from the injury after three days in the cave, he gave me his best horse, food, and water for the journey and sent me home to my sister. I traveled two days to get here."

The moon was full and cast strong light over the mountains, painting them with streaks of silver. They passed several moments in silence, resting with their shoulders touching.

Once he had regained his breath, the bishop spoke again. "You are a brave man."

Mathieu blinked and turned his face away from the Bishop. He made a choked sound in the back of his throat, and though the darkness concealed it, the old man could tell he was weeping.

The bishop placed his arm around the man and drew him closer, allowing the young man to rest his face on his cassock as his body shook with sobs. He stroked the man's hair in a calming motion and he soothed him with gentle words of the beauty and peace of heaven until his sobs quieted and he fell asleep.

The next morning, he helped Matthieu back inside the little shack, noticing that the man leaned more heavily on him than the day before. He spoke less and could only drink small amounts of water.

Josephine visited and greeted Matthieu with a kiss on the cheek and a "Good morning, brother."

He stretched out weakly and she took his hand. "Good morning, Josephine. Would you stay and talk with me a little?"

She released his hand and stood up. "I have so much I must do.."

The bishop placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her outside the door. "Your brother doesn't have much time. I have done what I can to slow the infection and ease his pain, but he is getting weaker."

"But Monseigneur, he is like a stranger to me."

"Then you must become reacquainted. I will leave you alone for awhile as I need to attend to some business in the village."

"What should I say to him?"

"Anything you wish. I know he loves you very much."

"How can you be certain of that?"

"Knowing he was gravely injured and might not have much time left on the earth, he came here to find you."

She nodded, sighed deeply, and went into the improvised sickroom.

The bishop was gone for an hour and when he returned, he hesitated at the door to the shack, then smiled when he heard laughter. Josephine was in the middle of a story. "...And I remember father's face when he saw the lamb wearing his new hat."

Matthieu had a coughing fit after and Josephine poured him a glass of water. He drank it and sat gasping for moment as she rubbed his back.

He reached out and placed a hand weakly on his sister's shoulder. "I am sorry I left the village without saying goodbye."

"I have forgiven you for that long ago. I was angry at first, but I understand."

He leaned forward a little and his hand brushed her hair. "It's strange. I still think of you as a little girl I can't believe you grew up and got married."

"I'm a widow now. I apologize, but I must get home." She started to stand up, but Mathieu put a hand on her arm to stop her.

"Would you tell me what happened to our parents before you go?."

"There was a fever that struck the village four years ago. Our mother and father and my husband, Jacques died. They did not suffer."

Mathieu closed his eyes a moment. "Thank you," he whispered.

As she adjusted her shawl and stood to leave, he called out, "Josephine-perhaps, if you do not think it would be inappropriate, you would bury me beside our parents….?"

Josephine turned back, nodded without speaking, and left. She inclined her head to the bishop who was leaning on the outside wall of the shack.

"It seems so cruel that God should bring my brother back into my life just to take him away."

The bishop straightened up and replied, "You could say that...or you could say that a lost sheep has been found, and a prodigal son has returned. How fortunate he is to get a second chance."

Her cheeks flushed in shame. "Forgive me, Monseigneur."

"It is natural to mourn the ones we love. There is nothing to forgive."

Suddenly, the sounds of voices singing and music from wooden flutes could be heard coming down the road leading from the village.

"What is that?" Josephine asked.

The bishop did not answer her question directly. Instead, he replied, "Would you be so kind as to help me get Mathieu outside. Otherwise, I fear he might be late for his own celebration."

Together they helped Mathieu up. They were forced to bear most of the weight of his weakening body as they helped him outside, where they took great care to arrange the pillows to make him comfortable and allow him to sit upright.

The singing grew louder until a group of people, mostly village children, became visible. They were skipping and dancing up the hill while singing in Latin. They carried flowers in their arms and approached Mathieu to lay their bouquets around his bed. Some of the women approached and draped woolen blankets over him or offered him pastries and cream or mutton stew. He recognized these dishes as things he had loved in his childhood and although he could only eat a bite or a spoonful or two at a time, they made him remember a time when he was young and innocent.

Even though most of the people were strangers to him, they greeted him warmly with kind words and hand shakes or hands clasping his shoulder. The songs, dances and gifts lasted nearly two hours.

When the shadows grew long, the festivities were interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats.

A gendarme arrived on horseback and began to look around the hillside. When Mathieu saw him, he called the bishop and clutched at the front of his cassock.

"He's come for me. Please-don't let him take me back to prison. Not like this."

The bishop squeezed his shoulder. "Shhh. I will speak with the gendarme. I promise I will not let him take you."

He stood up and hobbled over to where the gendarme stood beside his horse. "Good morning, monsieur, what brings you to this humble village?"

The gendarme spoke in an even, detached tone. "There are reports you are harboring a dangerous fugitive-a bandit who is one of Cravatte's men."

He walked past the bishop, who had attempted to nonchalantly block the man's path. The gendarme pushed through the crowds of people to stare at the injured man who rested against the shack.

Mathieu stared up at the gendarme, mouth agape in terror.

"It's no use, Monseigneur Bienvenu," he said.

"I'm to escort the fugitive back to Chastelar where he'll answer for his crimes. Is this the man?" He gestured impatiently at Matthieu who bore a look of agony.

"I ask no questions of those who come to me seeking help. Honestly, I never thought to ask him any questions. This village never has any crime and the people are very innocent."

"There are some who would prey on the kindness and the naivete of a good bishop," the gendarme said, casting a pointed glance at Mathieu.

The villagers started to scatter and return to their homes. Only Josephine sat by her brother and took his hand.

"I'm afraid that traveling for this man is impossible in his current state," said the bishop.

"He must accompany me regardless of his condition."

The bishop glanced over at the Mathieu and placed a hand on the gendarme's forearm. "Wait until tomorrow morning. Rest, drink some wine, and enjoy the food. When you return,I will make sure he is ready."

The gendarme paused a moment and frowned. "I suppose..I could stay the night."

"Josephine, would you be so good as to offer our guest some of that lovely wine and have Bayard see to his horse?"

She looked at him, raised an eyebrow, but then nodded and disappeared for a moment before returning with a glass and a stone pitcher. She handed it to the gendarme and said, "I think you will find it is very fine, monsieur."

He finished the first glass and then poured himself a second.

"I see that the hospitality of this village was not exaggerated, Monseigneur."

The bishop smiled. "Go to the rectory. The cure will give you a bed and a meal."

By the time the gendarme had drunk his fourth glass, he had given his hat to Bayard and was staggering a bit as the child lead him to the church.

The bishop called out to the gendarme: "Go with God, my son."

Once the man was out of sight, he turned to Josephine with a smile. "Well, I think the gendarme will not trouble us. I fear he will have quite a nasty headache in the morning."

"You are a surprising man, Monseigneur."

"Indeed."

"Shall I help you move Mathieu inside?"

The bishop sighed and rubbed his back "Give me a moment. All of this excitement has made me a bit tired."

"I would like to stay outside, Monseigneur."

The bishop studied Mathieu's breathing. He noted that after the shock of seeing the gendarme, it had become more rapid, but had not calmed since.

"Of course, my son."

The bishop, Josephine, and Matthieu talked for several hours until the sun began to set. Josephine kissed her brother's cheek. He sat up suddenly and embraced her as tightly as he could.

"Goodnight, brother."

"Goodnight, little sister."

The bishop and Mathieu watched the sky turn from dark blue to a painting of brilliant oranges, pinks, and reds; before it darkened and the first stars began to come out.

"Thank you, Monseigneur."

"For what, my son?"

"For saving me from the gendarme. For tending my wounds. For making me remember what it is to be a man again and not just a wretch."

The bishop drew the blankets over Mathieu, who was shaking a little. His hand brushed the hair from the man's brow, which was now clammy and cold.

"Do you think, Monseigneur that I might find you again in heaven one day?"

"I think that anything is possible with faith."

Mathieu smiled a little. "I believe that I will."

Mathieu's movements slowed, and he said no more. His eyes fluttered closed and he drifted off to sleep. The bishop knelt and began to administer Last Rites. As he prayed over the man, Mathieu's breathing became shallow. His eyes opened one last time right before the end. Then, his body relaxed with a last exhalation. The bishop searched for a pulse at his wrist and pressed his head to his chest to listen for a heartbeat: Mathieu was gone.

In the morning, the rather irritable gendarme came to collect his prisoner. The bishop made sure the gendarme left with his saddlebags full of small tokens and food to make up for his wasted journey.

They buried Matthieu with a small service. The bishop lead them in prayer, speaking to them of the prodigal son who had returned, and how all that was lost, was found. After the service, Josephine approached him with tear stains on her cheeks.

"You took care of my brother's body and his soul. You gave him the best last day a man could ever ask for." She clasped his hand in her own small ones and kissed it. Humbled by her words, the old man blessed her, but made no other reply. He was exhausted from his long vigil with Mathieu, and he went back to the parish to sleep.

When he had recovered, several days later, the bishop decided that it had been too long since he had said the Te Deum. But when the meagre chest containing the holy chasubles and vestments was brought before him, he was crestfallen. The chest was all but empty. They searched all the surrounding parishes, but the area was so poor that only the most humble and cheaply made objects could be found.

The bishop was about to resign that the Te Deum would be left unsaid for a while longer when there was a knock on his door. He found two cloaked horsemen on his doorstep. They had a chest with them. They did not speak to him, but deposited the chest on the ground, got back on their horses and left without a single word a word, or a name.

The startled cure and the bishop opened the chest and marvelled at the jewel-encrusted mitres and golden chalices. The bishop moved aside a large chalice and picked up a piece of paper that lodged behind it.

"From Cravatte to Monsieur Bienvenue," the bishop read from the paper.

"These are the items stolen from the sacristy at Embrun," gasped the cure.

"Yes, I know."

"What do you intend to do with them?"

The bishop smiled with a quirk of his brow, and replied, "Why, I intend to say the Te Deum."

"But Monseigneur. With stolen goods?" The cure drew back and rubbed his temple.

"God provided these gifts in our moment of need. Should we forsake them?"

The cure raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose not. Why would the bandit Cravatte send these to you?"

"My dear brother, I haven't the faintest idea, " he laughed.

He took great care to bless the villagers and offer kind words as he left town as if he knew that it would be his last visit to the shepherds. He was followed past the shack where he had tended Mathieu to the end of road leading to town. Bayard sniffled a bit. When not attending to the bishop, he had quite enjoyed playing with the village children.

When they arrived in Chasteler, they received a warm welcome. The Mayor looked crushed to find he was not able to say 'I told you so' to the Bishop about his warnings of bandits. Madame Magloire and Mademoiselle Baptistine marveled with him over the treasures in the chest, which he had brought with him.

Madame Magloire and Mademoiselle Baptistine marveled with him over the treasures in the chest. "What will we do with them, brother?" asked Mademoiselle Baptistine.

"I shall pray for guidance in this matter. These treasures were stolen only to find their way into our hands in a time of great need. It seems natural that we should use them towards God's work."

"Surely they should be returned to the cathedral…" Mademoiselle Magloire started. Mademoiselle Baptistine, always obedient and trusting, silenced her with a look.

* * *

><p>Long after Madame Magloire and Mademoiselle Baptistine had gone to bed on his second week back in Digne, the bishop worked in his garden under the stars. He became lost in reverie thinking of the shepherds' village and Mathieu. He said a silent prayer as he dug a hole with a trowel. He heard approaching hoofbeats, but paid them no mind as it was common for gendarmes or merchants to travel the roads at night. Suddenly, with no sound or warning, his hand touched a boot.<p>

He started a bit, but remained tranquil and untroubled as he looked up at the cloaked figure before him.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered and little could be discerned of his features in the darkness.

"God bless you, my son. I did not hear you approach. Tell me, what can an old bishop do for you tonight?" He stood up with difficulty and brushed the dirt off his hands. At his full height, he did not reach the man's shoulders.

He crossed his arms. "I would speak with you."

When the man spoke, his voice was rich and deep with the an emphasis expected of an actor or a poet. He had a slight accent that was neither bourgeois nor provincial. "You are the Bishop of Digne-the one called Monseigneur Bienvenu?" The visitor's tone was incredulous.

"Yes, my brother."

"Why don't you come inside. Our lives are humble, and our table is meagre, but there is bread and wine and a bed for the night if you require it."

The man crossed his arms. "This is a private matter."

"My servant and my sister have gone to bed. I can assure you that anything you say will remain in my confidence."

"Very well." He nodded and followed the bishop inside the dining room of the rectory.

The bishop lit a fire in the fireplace and retrieved two plates, a loaf of bread, and cups from the pantry and set them on the table. He poured two glasses of wine from the decanter, sipping his first. He noted that it was only after the visitor had seen him drink that the man tasted his own wine. The man had taken the seat closest to the door, which he glanced at every now and then. After a few moments, he pulled back his hood.

He was around forty years of age, with a thick beard and long dark brown hair pulled back into a queue. His bright eyes were framed by thick-arched brows, and an old scar cut across his right eyebrow. The cloak hid most of his clothing, but the bishop could see a dagger strapped to his wrist when the cloak shifted. The man leaned back in his chair and rested his boots on the table. The bishop smiled at him and did not look away from his intense stare.

During the silence, the traveler glanced around the rectory, taking in the spartan, well-used furnishings. "I admit, Monseigneur, I expected something grander based on your reputation."

"I find this rectory is large enough for a man of my stature, " the bishop replied with gentle humor.

The visitor's lips twisted in a wry smile before assuming a grim expression. "I came here to ask you about a man you tended to."

"Of course."

"His name was Matthieu. He was one of my most loyal men. And, he was my friend."

The bishop gasped at the sudden realization. "Cravatte..?"

"Yes. You may call the gendarmes if you like, Monseigneur; but I swear that I mean you no harm. All I ask is that you tell me of my friend's last days. Then, I will leave."

"How did you know of Matthieu's death?"

"Josephine wrote to me." He noticed the bishop's puzzled expression. "You are wondering how I know this good woman? Once, I was just a boy living in themountains, same as Matthieu. We were children together."

The bishop took a sip of his wine and leaned forward in his chair. He sighed deeply before beginning to recount the events leading to Matthieu's death. "When Josephine brought me to him, I saw that his wound had festered, and there was little I could do other than make him comfortable in his last hours. That he made it to the village with such a grievous wound at all was a miracle. Someone had taken great pains to treat his injury."

Cravatte studied him a moment before responding. "We were together in a cave in the mountains. We were boxed in on all sides with no hope of getting out and our only option was to wait. I stitched the wound by the light of our last candle."

The man's eyes took on a haunted, dark expression. "He didn't make a sound. It was ages before the wound stopped bleeding and it was so cold and damp in the cave. I sent him away as soon as it was safe, but it was too late."

"I am sure you did everything you could, my brother. Without your aid, he would never have made it to the village."

"Did he suffer much?" The large man's hands gripped the edge of the table, as he awaited the answer.

"He passed away in his sleep, under the stars. His death was among the most peaceful I've witnessed."

Cravatte sighed and the tension drained from his arms. "Josephine told me you arranged a celebration for him and defended him from the gendarme."

The bishop smiled humbly. "It was a small thing to organize the celebration. And I merely offered the gendarme a bit of elderberry wine."

"The shepherds' wine is among the most potent," laughed Cravatte.

"I imagine he's still looking for his hat."

Cravatte's smile disappeared and he frowned. "Josephine wrote in her letter that although you could not save his body, you saved his soul."

"Yes."

"I am grateful." He drained his cup of wine and stood up to leave. Then, he turned back to the bishop with a cunning smile. "I heard the treasures of Embrun were never recovered…"

"No," the Bishop replied grinning back at him.

" I also heard that the hospital recently added more beds." Cravatte pulled the hood up, concealing his face.

"What does your band think of these rumors?"

His face became serious for a moment. "We are glad."

"This door is always open for any who need it, Monsieur Cravatte. I hope you will decide to return one day. If ever I am traveling and encounter your band, you will be welcomed with open arms."

Cravatte nodded and cast a glance to the corner of the room where a pot was collecting small droplets of water from a hole in the roof. "Your roof needs mending."

Before the bishop realized what had transpired, Cravatte was out the door and the sound of hoofbeats grew distant in the night.

He walked outside and gazed up at the heavens, still somewhat perplexed by the conversation.

A fortnight passed and two men from the town arrived to fix the roof. When he asked, he was assured that all expenses had been paid.

Occasionally, he would see men slip in during mass. They always sat in the back row of the sanctuary and they wore hooded cloaks that concealed their faces. They would always vanish just as he ended his sermons, leaving him to wonder if they were phantoms resulting from his declining vision. Although he was never able to approach the shadow men; whenever they attended mass, a gift was found somewhere in the parish-a chest of gold and gems, a sturdy horse, a box of bandages and linaments for the hospital, seeds for the bishop's garden, or a fine, new cassock and coat. Sometimes, the gifts were accompanied by a letter always signed with the initial, _C_.

* * *

><p>When the saintly bishop was in his last days, he was visited by a mysterious stranger. The man was around fifty, tall and by Mademoiselle Baptistine's description, quite distinguished with finely tailored silk clothes and gold jewelry. He introduced himself as Monsieur Leroux, a prosperous merchant and insisted upon seeing the bishop immediately upon his arrival.<p>

He went into the bishop's bedchamber where he was greeted by a kind voice that still held the laughter of a schoolboy though it came from a man who was eighty-two.

"Welcome, brother. Come closer so I might hear you better."

The tall man approached the bishop's bedside hesitantly, as if he feared the slightest motion might shatter the ancient man who appeared as pale and fragile as milk glass. The blue eyes remained kind and expressive, though as the visitor drew near, his heart sank as he realized that the venerable bishop was blind; his eyes were clouded with cataracts. The bishop extended his hand, and the traveler took it in his own palm and kissed the cool skin as thin as parchment.

"Monseigneur, Bienvenu, I have intended to visit you for years. It has been too long."

The bishop tilted his head. "I know your voice. May I touch your face so that I might remember?"

"Yes, although I fear it has changed in the years since you last saw me." He leaned forward and guided the man's hands to his face. The bishop traced his broad furrowed forehead and arched eyebrows, lingering for a moment on the right one with its familiar scar. Then the hands moved to his sharp cheekbones and his hair, which was cut short with the hairline beginning to recede.

"Do you recognize me bishop?"

The old man frowned and placed his hands in his lap. "Is it...Monsieur Cravatte?"

"Yes, Monseigneur."

The bishop smiled, bringing a sudden radiance to his features. "Ah! I knew I would see you again. I never had the chance to thank you for your gifts and charity."

"That is not necessary. In fact, I have come to thank _you_. I have not been Cravatte for many years. Now, I am the respectable merchant, Monsieur Leroux, a husband, and a father."

"I am delighted by your success." The bishop became lost in reverie for a moment and then smiled again at Cravatte. "There is one thing I have always wanted to ask you…"

"Anything, Monseigneur."

"I noticed certain visitors to the parish during mass, and I wondered if they were part of your band?"

Cravatte chuckled, a rich, warm sound. "Indeed they were."

"I had always dreamed I might minister to the bandits."

"You saved more souls than you'll ever know, Monseigneur." He placed a hand on the bishop's shoulder and squeezed lightly. He leaned over and kissed the sainted hand one last time before leaving the room. When he was at the threshold, the bishop called out to him.

"Goodbye, my friend."

Cravatte choked back a tear: "Goodbye, Monseigneur."

As he joined his traveling companion outside, the man remarked. "Such a pity that he went blind."

Cravatte raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Bishop Myriel will never be truly blind."

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

Historical notes:

Hugo names Cravatte as a leuitenant of Gaspard Bes , a real-life Robin Hood figure of the late 1700s. He had several escaped convicts in his band. Histotically, the convicts most likely would have had scars on the ankles rather than the wrist, so I have taken some liberty with this.

The real life G. Bes never killed anyone in his robberies, and they never robbed anyone who helped them. Usually robbed tax collectors, wealthy, ect. G. Bes was caught and convicted in Aix-en-Provence.

In 1779, Bes was arrested in Maures mtns . Within a year, the daughter of the jailer helped him escape along with a band of galley slaves that formed his band.

He was caught at La Valette-du-Vor and arrested the final time. He was hung in 1781 at the age of 25.

Thank you:

This fic was originally written for an exchange fic, but I felt it was too simple to present as a gift. Thank you to several people who were betas.


End file.
